Night Time Talk
by Anime Girl23
Summary: Ricky's got a stop to make before he heads home. Ricky/Jack friendship. R&R!


Hello again! Not Ricky/Amy this time (the insanity!), but a friendship fic! I'd loved the episodes when Bob was around because we got to see not only more of Ricky's character, but we also got to see how everyone else reacted to the truth about Ricky's past. I'd especially liked Jack during the episodes. He didn't know the full details of what Bob had done, but he was the one that got Bob out of Ricky's life.

Disclaimer: Let's see...if I owned Secret Life Of The American Teenager, who wouldn't be there? Oh, right! Ben! He's still here? Damn it. I don't own it.

Spoilers: Takes place directly after That's Enough Of That.

Night Time Talk  
One-Shot

It used to make him sick, the feeling of another man's touch on his skin. It was too close, too personal. When he'd first been placed in foster care he hadn't been able to be within five feet of his foster father without getting jittery. Margaret and Eli had never judged him for that, never judged him when he took the farthest seat from Eli at the dinner table. Dr. Fields had nodded—and probably noted down on that stupid pad of his—when he'd spent his first session in silence and flitting around the room on hyperactive feet.

It had taken him two months before he could be within a foot of Eli without his eyes searching for the nearest exit.

It took him six sessions with Dr. Fields before he was finally able to spend the allotted hour on the couch, five feet from the other man. It took another three before he spoke more than five words to the man.

He still sat in the back of his classes when he had a male teacher. He didn't know those men, didn't trust them like he'd come to trust Eli and Dr. Fields. It was an upside to being the drummer; they were set up in the back, whether it be in the room or on the field.

That progress had back peddled when Bob was put on parole. Eli had tried to put a comforting hand on his arm and he'd jumped a foot, heart beating a mile a minute as his brain ran wild with thoughts of the past and what his father could do. He'd returned to the window when Margaret had put him in the car and all but forced him to a session with Dr. Fields, spending the entire hour gazing out the window but not really seeing the cars flying across the road below.

A soft, morbid voice in the back of his head whispered equations accounting his weight and how long it would take for him to hit the pavement. On a clear, windless day, it would take him twelve point three seconds to hit the ground below, avoiding the cars. The impact would be enough to shatter his ribcage, probably killing him instantly.

He'd spent that week Bob was free on the verge of something. He didn't want to think about equations anymore, how long it would take for him to fall, how fast his car would have to be going if he wanted to hit that wall just right, if the now half empty bottle of anti-anxiety medication would be enough to stop his heart. Dr. Bowman had told him he could talk to him, to not do anything stupid. He'd told him the truth, told him he wished he could be a Christian and he did, but the threat of Bob just around the corner made that stupid option just that more appealing.

He couldn't look at lime green anymore without his heart speeding to the point of pain.

He'd cried when Adrian told him Bob was gone, that Jack had seen him break his parole and got him arrested. He'd slept with Adrian just after, felt her hands in his hair, more comforting than passionate. He'd been able to feel the tears leaking down his face before he buried it in Adrian's bare shoulder.

They laid there for two hours after they were done, just lying there, not a word spoken between them. Adrian drifted off to sleep around midnight, but sleep wouldn't grab him that night. He left just as it was turning two, slipping his shoes on once he was safely in the hallway. She'd be angry with him for leaving when morning came, he knew, and he knew he should be going home, Margaret and Eli were probably still sitting awake in their beds waiting for him, hours after they'd put his foster siblings to bed, but he didn't. His feet moved of their own accord, through the parking lot and to the spot his car rested, moonlight reflecting off the silver. Soft rock was beating through his speakers, barely at a whisper when he pulled in front of a decorative mailbox proudly proclaiming it the Stone/Pappas Residence. He didn't move from his car, just turned it off as he sat there, Margaret's speeches about going green drilled into his head.

He didn't know what he was doing there, sitting in front of the darkened house of a boy he hadn't been able to stand a month ago. It was three in the morning and they had school the next day; though, he admitted silently to himself, he probably wouldn't be there, not after everything that had happened recently. He could call it a Mental Health Day. The school already thought he was nuts.

The front door opened, artificial light breaking up the darkness as Jack's half shadowed figure appeared on the step.

He climbed from his car with a breath, not bothering to press the lock button on his key ring. He'd already woken Jack apparently; there was no need to wake his parents. His hands were shoved deep into his pants pockets as he went up the walk, arms tensed straight enough that they pushed his already too loose jeans down a couple inches from his hips.

"There a reason you're outside my house at three in the morning?" Jack asked, when Ricky stopped a foot in front of him. His hair was a mess, sticking up in all directions as he squinted tired eyes at the shorter boy.

"I…I just wanted to say thanks," he replied, eyes on his shoes as he shifted from foot to foot.

Jack's hands dropped from his face where he'd been pressing them against his eyes, staring at Ricky in the poor light. Ricky glanced up, catching Jack's worried gaze for a second before his vision fell to the right. "He wasn't going to leave you alone," he said, echoing the words he'd said only days ago. He nudged Ricky's arm with his elbow as he sat on the stoop, biting his lip as Ricky sat beside him.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just…I'm glad he's gone." He watched as Ricky nodded, noticing the other boy's hand gripping the edge of the step. His knuckles were turning white. "Are you okay?"

Ricky's eyes were downcast, his face shadowed, the light streaming from the still open door not doing much. He swallowed thickly, letting his eyes fall closed as his grip on the step tightened. "He wanted to sell the baby."

He said it in barely a whisper, but Jack still heard it loud and clear. Those six words seemed to echo in a scream across the silent neighborhood. Jack's own heart seemed to stop as an image of Amy and her growing stomach flashed across his mind. Ricky's father had wanted to…what monster could sell a baby?

His hand cupped over Ricky's shoulder, squeezing gently as he noticed a shaking in the smaller boy. He felt Ricky tense under his touch for a moment before relaxing and leaning against his side. Ricky didn't stay like that long, only for a few seconds before he seemed to almost jump to his feet, running still shaking hands through his hair.

"I'll see you at school."

"Uh, yeah," Jack said, "See you." He stood as Ricky headed to his car, brushing the dirt from the back of his pajama bottoms, and turned. He stopped in his doorway, turning back as Ricky opened his car door. "Ricky," he called out, nodding slightly as Ricky looked at him, "I know you wouldn't have done it."

Ricky blinked, just standing there as Jack disappeared into the house and the door closed. He shook himself, getting into his car, but paused before he put the key into the ignition.

_"I know you wouldn't have done it."_

The words echoed in his mind and he leaned his head back against the seat. His father had said that if he'd done it, he would leave and he'd be free. That was all he'd ever wanted as a kid as he hid beneath his thread-thin sheet and Bob had been offering him freedom.

Could he have been selfish enough to take it? Could he have taken an innocent child—his child—and given him to a man who still caused him to wake up screaming in the middle of the night? Could he have done that to Amy?

Her smile flashed across his closed eyes, lids acting as a movie screen as images flew by; her smile, that stumble at band camp, her face after their first kiss, interlocked hands, eyes closed and a tiny moan as they…

He never would have been able to do it. They made that baby together, a little life. There was no way he'd ever be able to hand their child over to a man that had taken away his innocence before he knew what it really was. He would protect his child with his life, anything to keep what happened to him from happening again.

His phone began to vibrate against the plastic of his cup holder and he jumped, startled. He reached for it, checking the caller ID first out of a newborn paranoia. The word _home_ stared back at him and he closed his eyes as he flipped the phone opened and raised it to his ear. "I'm on my way."

"Are you okay?" Margret asked, sounding tired and worried.

"Yeah," he said after a moment, "I'm doing okay."

"All right. Be careful."

"I will."

"And, Ricky?"

"Hm?"

"We're going to have a talk about curfew in the morning."

His head dropped as he groaned, letting the phone fall into his lap as the call disconnected. He listened to the car start, almost wincing as it sounded much too loud for just before four in the morning. He cast one more look at Jack's house before he pulled out onto the street.

_"I know you wouldn't have done it."_

He knew it too.

The End

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